


ad hominem, ad nauseam

by orphan_account



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - US 21st c., Real Person Fiction
Genre: M/M, Obsession, Other, Political Intrigue, Unhealthy Relationships, mild religious themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 20:34:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10578993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: There’s a certain euphoria that comes with selling your soul to the devil.





	

There’s a certain euphoria that comes with selling your soul to the devil – a type of giddiness that only comes when you know that you’re not getting out of this alive but you won’t let yourself think about it.

Trump shakes his hand and leaves, and then he’s sitting down with Conway and Bannon, ready to draft a statement. Conway’s smile is succinct and polite, but he can see the malice deep in her eyes. She’s not happy, not happy at all.

“Glad to have you aboard, Reince,” she says.

“Glad to be here, Kellyanne,” he replies.

“Now,” Bannon says, clearing his throat, “about the statement, Priebus –”

“You can call me Reince.”

Bannon just gives him a look. “About the statement, Priebus, we have to make sure the public understands that this is a collaboration – they’ll, of course, try to frame it as a power struggle between the establishment and the populists, but of course, the media is filled with a bunch of lying fucks so we’ll need to make sure our message can’t be mistaken for anything else.”

There’s a certain oddity to the fact that someone who hates the media is going to be a big part of something so visible, but then again, this whole year has been odd, so Reince just shuts up and nods along.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reince calls Paul once it’s all confirmed, and there’s a clear relief in his voice. “Thank _god_ he didn’t pick Bannon.”

“Believe me, I’m on my way to church right now,” Reince chuckles softly. He leans back in the car, rubbing his eyes a little. “But Bannon was fine with it – he said he was fine with me having that job and him having the job of chief strategist – whatever that’s going to be.”

“The Chief of Staff to the President gets certain special privileges that other advisors don’t,” Paul says. “I mean, you’ll have unrestricted access to Trump. He might not like that.”

“We’ll just have to see,” Reince shrugs. “To be perfectly honest, I think he was all right with having a role especially created for him.”

“Well, try to keep a good relationship with him,” Paul insists. “We’ll need all the help we can get, especially when we can finally repeal and replace Obamacare and add our own justice to the Supreme Court.”

Reince isn’t really listening much. He’s staring out the window, up at the cloudy skies. It’s a nice day out. “Hey, Ryan?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you sure we’re not… normalizing this too much?” He pauses a second. “I just mean – he’s not your typical Republican. Neither are the people he surrounds himself with. I mean, do you think we can really –”

“With you there, Priebus, pulling the strings, I think we’ll be fine.” There’s a second where the sound is muffled, then Paul returns. “I have to go now, but we’ll be in touch soon.”

He hangs up and Reince is left staring at his phone in his hands. The euphoria is gone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Maggie Haberman first steps into his life when he goes with the Trump team for an exclusive interview with the New York Times. Bannon stays behind out of spite, grumbling about liberal Democrats, but Conway spends the whole car ride there reapplying her makeup and getting herself camera-ready.

“There won’t be any cameras there,” Reince says. There’s an obvious Greek metaphor to be made here, but he’s still trying to be polite, even though everyone knows he’s not really wanted.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t look good,” she replies. She snaps her compact shut and looks him over. “Have you ever tried _Rogaine_?”

Reince considers revoking his decision of being polite.

He doesn’t get to sit near Trump, not really – Conway gets that particular pleasure – but Trump is loud and rambunctious enough that he could probably hear him outside the room. In typical Trumpian style, while he’s greeting the assembled reporters, he holds Maggie’s hand for far too long and looks around the room. “Oh, this girl – she’s a real pain. A great reporter, but a real pain. She wouldn’t even cover my announcement – that’s how much of a pain she is.”

To her credit, Haberman laughs. “Well, I’ll be sure to cover your… presidency.” She says the last word as though it’s a physical pain to say it, and Reince can’t help but feel a tinge of sympathy.

After the interview, while Trump is getting ready to call his driver back and everyone is more or less standing around awkwardly, she comes over to Reince. “I see Mr. Bannon didn’t come.”

“No, no, he was – busy,” Reince says. He’s used to having to defend people, but not when they’re people who might actively hate him. Not since the Reagan Amendment, anyway. “But, well, with all the times he came up, it felt like he was right here with us.”

“He didn’t come up that much,” Haberman says plainly. She looks over as Trump puts his phone away and starts to head to the door, and she steps aside to let Reince pass. “Good luck, Mr. Priebus.”

“Thank you,” Reince replies, a little awkwardly. Something creeps up on the edges of his skin and sneaks under. Conway raises both brows at him as they head out, but he doesn’t say a word back to her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are moments, when Trump opens his mouth and Reince swears he can hear someone else’s voice. He knows others feel the same – other pundits, other political minds – but it’s more surreal when he sees it happening.

Someone on Fox News says, “voter fraud” and the next thing he knows, Trump has sent out a tweet about it and then every news outlet jumps on it.

“We need to take away his phone,” Reince says.

“We need to stop him from watching TV and listening to the media,” Bannon counters.

Reince shakes his head. “No, he likes to hear about himself and he should know what’s happening in the world – especially since he’ll be running the country.”

“And there’s no way he’ll let anyone stop him from tweeting so we’ll just have to deal with it,” Bannon says. He looks back down at his laptop, glasses perched on the edge of his nose, and Reince can’t look away.

There’s such a strange quality to Bannon, how they say he’s playing the right hand to the Devil when the Devil listens to no one but himself. How he’s the puppet master to someone who isn’t a puppet, but rather a showman.

It’s a messy mix of metaphors, so he falls back to clichés. Bannon may be Hades, but Trump is certainly Zeus. If Trump sees himself as Christ, Bannon would be – John the Baptist, maybe? Reince isn’t certain, he hasn’t brushed up on scripture in years.

Even so, he can’t help but wonder what he’d be in that metaphor – him, and the Republican party in general. Lazarus of Bethany, maybe, returning from the grave, through the blessing of Christ.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Are you sure you can’t come over? Even for a little bit?” Reince asks. There’s a sad sandwich on his desk, but he’s staring at the picture of his family.

On the other end of the line, Sally sighs. “They’ll miss school. You could come over.”

“You know I don’t know when I can do that,” he says. He hopes the sadness in his voice conveys how much he wishes he could be there instead of this hellhole. “Tell them I said hi?”

“I will,” she says. She lets out a yawn and he images her rubbing her eyes. “I’ll try calling tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” he says. “Goodnight.” He waits for her to hang up and slowly sets his phone down. God, he wishes he didn’t have to be here.

“Was that the wife?” Kushner’s in the doorway, all of a sudden, and Reince nearly jumps.

“Uh, yeah, it was,” he says. He leans back. “It’s, uh, a little hard – there’s so much work here and the kids have school so they can’t exactly come over…”

“Sounds rough,” Kushner says, sounding very sympathetic. “What years are they in?”

“Jack’s in middle school and Grace is just in elementary,” Reince replies. “But they’re both pretty young. At least their mother’s there, taking care of them.”

Kushner nods slowly. “You know, the next time we’re in DC, I could cover for you for a couple of hours if you want to go and spend time with them for a bit.”

“Really?” It sounds almost too good to be true, but Kushner doesn’t seem to be that bad of a guy, so, after a moment’s hesitation, he nods. “That would be great, thanks.”

“No problem, Rinse,” Kushner smiles.

Reince clears his throat. “Actually, it’s, uh, Reince. Like, pints but with an ‘r’.”

“Oh.” Kushner looks sufficiently embarrassed. “Uh, sorry, _Reince_.”

“It’s all right, Jared.” He’s still smiling a little after Kushner leaves, feeling a little lighter than before. Yes, it’ll be nice to have a confidant, someone on his side for once, in this tumultuous place.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The articles about Conway start coming in and she takes to the media like a moth to a flame. Reince sees the disdain in Bannon’s eyes, his shadow deepened by the flashes of the camera, but Reince doesn’t mind. It secures him, makes him feel like his feet are on the ground and his job is safe – she wants power, not responsibility, and that’s exactly what she has.

She’s on the phone with Haberman one day, fingers twirling a nonexistent wire, and she throws him a wink as he walks by.

It chills him to the bone and he hopes it doesn’t happen again.

Paul texts him, asking him why Giuliani is clearly out of the running for Secretary of State, and instead of replying, Reince turns his phone off and holds his head in his hands.

More nominees start rolling in, and Reince tries, he really tries to be the voice of the Republican party, but there are so many other people there too that it’s nigh impossible – there’s Bannon, there’s Conway, there’s Kushner, and then there’s Trump himself.

And in the end, that’s who Trump is going to listen to, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.

The media call Bannon a shadow and Bannon says, “Fuck, I wish.”

“You’re not happy about these Goldman-Sachs executives, are you?” Reince notes. It’s obvious, but he asks just for the sake of asking.

“No, I’m not,” Bannon replies curtly.

“But didn’t you used to work with them?”

“I did.” He pauses and drains a bottle of beer. “That’s why I’m not happy. And you shouldn’t be either – these Democrats are going to bring in their own agenda and they won’t let us do what we need to do.”

“They’re not all Democrats,” Reince says. “If they’re willing to work with the administration, then they’re supportive of our goals.”

“ _Your_ goals.”

Reince raises a brow. “Aren’t our goals supposed to be the same?”

Bannon gets up from the table, leaving his empty bottle behind, and Reince lets out a slow sigh.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are secret meetings behind closed doors, whispered conversations that Reince is not privy too. He tries to sneak into them sometimes, tries to see what he’s missing, what sort of rumors are being spread about him behind his back, without his knowledge.

He manages to get one word, once, overheard between Miller and Bannon. One word, just one – _Russia_.

After that, Reince stops trying to find out what they’re talking about. It turns out to be a very good decision.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Haberman interviews Conway, once again, this time in person for some podcast. They both dress to impress, and it’s quite a sight – two women, confident and powerful in their own right, sitting across from each other and just talking.

Bannon doesn’t seem all that pleased to see her, arms crossed and face in that semi-permanent scowl, but he doesn’t actively disrespect her either, and it’s strange to see him like that with anyone, much less a journalist.

Haberman starts packing up her recording equipment and Reince waits until Conway’s left to step inside. She looks up at him, face impassive but genial. “So, we meet again, Mr. Priebus. How is life with the President-elect treating you?”

“It’s going well,” Reince replies, and he can’t help but relaxing. He doesn’t mean to, but he does. “How was the interview with Kellyanne?”

“She was very cooperative,” Haberman replies. That says nothing at all and he knows it, and she knows it too. She packs away her laptop. “She enjoys being in the limelight. Though, that’s not necessarily a good thing.”

“Yeah,” Reince nods. “I, uh, don’t really care for it, really.” He pauses, then clears his throat. “This is all off the record, right?”

She chuckles softly and waves her hands. “I packed my recorder away, don’t worry.” She steps past him and out into the hallway, before turning on her heel and back at him. “A word of advice, Mr. Priebus – I’d start getting used to media attention if I were you.”

He watches her go, silently, not sure of what to say. Later, when Conway is talking about the interview over a working lunch, she says, “That Maggie Haberman has a silver tongue. She could get you to confess to murder if she wanted to. Don’t know why a girl like that went into journalism.”

“Her father was a journalist,” Bannon says, and then changes the subject.

Reince can’t stop thinking about her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“North Korea is filled with a bunch of commie cunts,” Bannon says bluntly, during a strategy meeting.

No one says anything in response, but Reince is pretty sure that they’re all glad he’s not officially Chief of Staff and he doesn’t have the necessary security credentials.

There’s a tight feeling in his gut, though, when he realizes Trump is nodding along to Bannon’s words.

“He can’t do anything without congressional authority,” Paul says, on their weekly phone call. “And we don’t like North Korea.”

“I know,” Reince sighs, “but if Bannon has his ear…”

“Are you saying you don’t have his ear?”

Reince doesn’t say anything for a moment. “I have to go.” He hangs up abruptly and holds his head in his hands.

The euphoria’s been gone for a long while now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The dinner with Paul is sufficiently awkward, but not for the reasons Reince thought it would be. He thought that Bannon and Paul would butt heads immediately like he did, and then Paul would finally understand why it’s been so hard for him to pursue any sort of Republican agenda when someone like Bannon and Miller were there.

But it’s not like that at all. Paul and Bannon get along just fine – fuck, Paul makes Bannon _laugh_ , and here Reince was thinking that Bannon didn’t even know what laughter was. That it was what he traded in to the Devil in order to help get Trump elected.

He squeezes his fork until his knuckles turn white, and it’s Kushner who points it out. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Reince says, somehow managing to keep his voice level. He takes a deep breath and relaxes his grip. “Just… tired, is all.” He pulls out his phone and checks the time. “I’ve, uh, got to go home soon – it’s my turn to tuck the kids in.”

“But this dinner is important,” Kushner says.

Reince shrugs. “Not that important. Dearborn, and Short have already left. I think it’s fine if I go too.” He stands up and pushes his chair in. “I’ll see you later, Jared.”

“Have a good night, Reince.”

Reince gives a polite nod to everyone else and heads to the door to grab his coat. He can text Paul later and ask him about whatever else happened.

“Where are you going?” Bannon’s standing behind Reince, then in front when he turns around, his arms crossed and face impassive. His tie is messed up and he’s wearing cufflinks when he very well shouldn’t be and all the awkwardness of the dinner seems to have caught up to him.

“I have to get home,” Reince says.

“No, you don’t,” Bannon says. “You have to stay here, because the President asked you to come here.”

“But – Short and Dearborn left.” He probably should’ve gone with the kid excuse again but it’s unlikely Bannon would buy it.

“Exactly why you need to be here,” he says. “Ryan feels comfortable with you around. If you’re not there, he will shut the rest of us out. Go back to your seat.”

He turns and leaves, and Reince feels like he has no choice but to follow him. That’s the thing about Bannon – his logic made little sense, his points were too strange, but he had his commanding atmosphere about him and a guy like Reince just couldn’t compete with that.

They share a cab on the way home. It’s long, silent, and awkward. Paul sends him a text saying he thought that was a very productive dinner, and Reince considers opening a window and throwing his phone out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Hey, you don’t mind that I keep bringing up that time when you tried to get me to drop out, right?” Trump asks, after he’s already brought it up in front of several reporters. “It’s a funny story, very funny. People love it. First you hated me, now you love me.”

Reince is pretty sure the feeling he has isn’t love, but he swallows down his pride and nods. “Of course, sir.” He heads to the restroom right after, face starting to flush up, and he tries washing it away with cool water.

It takes him a few moments to realize his phone is buzzing with a message from Katie.

 _NYT article about you_. She’s sent him a link too, and he opens it right there. He doesn’t read it, though, eyes caught on the byline.

_Glenn Thrush and Maggie Haberman._

He pockets his phone and dries his face before heading back outside. Inauguration Day is coming soon and there’s still so much to do. He pulls his phone out again and calls Katie. “Let’s set up a conference call with the rest of the senior staff.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The inauguration happens. They’re sworn in.

Reince ends up laughing halfway through.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“We have to fire Sean,” Reince says, once he’s closed the door.

Bannon looks up from his computer and raises a brow. “Why?”

Reince blinks at him. “Why?” he scoffs. “Did you see that press briefing? Fuck, I thought Sean would be the perfect person for this but it turns out that he’s just plain _insane_.” He wipes his brow and shakes his head. “We have to dump him.”

“I think he should stay,” Bannon says. At Reince’s expression, he gives a shrug. “He’s treating the media with the respect that they deserve, and the President with the respect that he deserves. Plus, I feel it would be unwise to have a shakeup this early in the administration.” He leans back in his chair and there’s the slightest hint of a smirk on the edge of his lips.

“Oh, my god,” Reince says after a moment. “This is a power play, isn’t it? You’re trying to pin all of this on me – I got Sean hired, and when everyone sees the shitty job he’s doing, they’re gonna ask for his head and mine too, aren’t they?”

Bannon’s smirk just gets more defined and Reince wonders if he can find one of those busts and smash it against his face. He marches out of the office and down to Conway’s. She’s sitting there, typing on her phone, and he knocks on the door.

“Kellyanne, do you want to be on TV?”

She sets down her phone. “When and where?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He gets a text right after he gets off Fox News Sunday, from an unknown number.

_Lying is easy, defending is harder._

Reince racks his brain before responding. _Is that a Hamilton reference?_

There’s no reply. He didn’t think there would be, and he can’t stop wondering who this mystery person was.

Actually, he thinks he knows who it is, and that may be the scary part because he knows it’s not here and yet – and yet he hopes it is.

After the phone interview Haberman does with Trump and the article comes out, he texts the mystery number again. _Nice article. Didn’t mention that Bannon was smirking the whole time._

The response comes within minutes. _On the record or off?_

 _What do you think?_ he sends, then pockets his phone with a smile. He’s still smiling to himself when Bannon walks in and gives him a strange look.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing,” Reince replies. “Just reading some articles.”

It’s not long after that when Bannon declares war on the media. But Reince can’t help but wonder how on earth Haberman got his number.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Hey, Katie,” Reince pauses over her desk, “would you mind maybe stabbing me and murdering me?”

“Not unless you’ll do the same to me,” she replies, and goes back to typing on the computer.

“I’d do it,” Bannon says from the office, and the scary part is, Reince can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Those morning shows will kill you,” Bannon says, while they’re sitting in their office. His feet are propped up on his desk and he’s leaning all the way back in his chair, almost about to fall over.

“I know.” Reince kicks off his shoes and lies on the couch, hands covering his face. They’ve only got the lamplight in the corner but compared to all the other rooms, it’s like the sun. “I know.”

“They will eat you up and spit you out and they will have no shame in doing so,” he continues. He pauses a second. “Why do you humor them?”

Reince shrugs. “Freedom of press?”

Bannon scoffs. “Fuck that.”

“Look,” Reince turns over and sighs, “you have to take my advice, Bannon. You, well, you fucked up on the whole travel ban thing, you fucked up on the whole thing, and if you want to get anything passed through Congress or accepted by the American people, you need my help.”

“You’re a fucking pushover, Priebus,” Bannon huffs. “Why the fuck do I have to take advice from you?”

“Because _you’re_ a fucking prick and a fuckup and no one likes you.” He sits up. “You can’t keep shutting me out of meetings, you can’t keep walking around like you’re the only fucking person here. We’re all here trying to do our jobs – let me in.”

Bannon doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and for a second, Reince thinks he’s gonna be out of a job. Then, surprisingly, Bannon laughs. It grates his ears and spreads goosebumps across his skin and Reince hopes he never has to hear it again.

“Look at that,” Bannon says, “you’ve got some balls in there.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Reince says plainly, and lies back down.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Did you read the article?” Reince asks when he gets home.

Sally nods, but her expression doesn’t do him any favors. “Honestly, it sounded like you two wanted to secretly kill each other.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not too far off.” He sighs as he slumps down into the sofa and shakes his head. Nuzzi did her best, of course she did, but with the animosity between the two of them, it’s hard to make practiced jokes sound like they weren’t. “I fucking hate him.”

“I know,” she says, “but you have to work with him.”

To serve the right hand of the King, Reince thinks, even though that should’ve been him from the start, technically. He should’ve been the one with Trump’s ear, he should be the saving grace of the Republican party.

He shouldn’t have to share the spotlight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He goes to church, once. Except it doesn't quite feel right.

It's as though the moment he enters, the entire atmosphere changes. Sally doesn't notice. Jack and Grace don't notice. They just go off and do their own business.

But Reince notices. It feels like all eyes are on him as he steps through, every whisper, every glare, all directed at him and what he's been doing. Banning refugees, reducing health coverage, lying to millions of people -

Wait. Wait, no, that's not what they're doing. They're making America great again, that's what they've been doing the whole time. Isn't it?

There's a deep, deep sinking feeling in his chest where his heart should be and instead of stepping forward, he turns around and steps out.

When Sally later asks why he left, he tells her it was a call from the President. And when he gets that text from Katie about the quote from Ruddy, well, that's just karma, isn't it?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Katie’s the one to show him the Breitbart article, and Reince doesn’t know how long he stands there, holding her phone, staring at it.

“Oh, my god,” he says, slowly. “I’m going to get fired.”

“You don’t know if the President’s read it,” Katie says, trying to be reassuring. “Maybe he hasn’t had a chance to check it out yet?”

“It’s Breitbart,” Reince replies, as though that’s supposed to answer everything.

“What’s Breitbart?” Bannon walks over, in his ill-fitting suit and poorly dressed style.

"You know, Breitbart," Reince says, voice layered with sarcasm. "That news outlet you used to run that's now running stories about how I'm getting the ax."

Bannon snatches Katie's phone out of his hands and starts scrolling through the article. "I have no clue where they got this information from."

Reince scoffs. "I wonder why I find that hard to believe."

"Are you being serious right now?" Bannon raises a brow. "What reason would I have for planting a story like this? We're already reeling from Flynn's loss - you think I want another scandal on our hands?"

"Well, you do seem to hate me and try to block my access to the President at every turn so yeah, maybe you do want another scandal." Reince crosses his arms and glares while Bannon rolls his eyes.

Katie clears her throat. "Could I have my phone back?"

Bannon slams it down on the desk, along with his hand. "Look, Priebus, I may not like you..."

Reince can't help it, he lets out a laugh. "Oh, is that supposed to surprise me?"

"Would you just let me finish?"

"I don't know - would you just let me talk to the President and be in meetings – like I've asked for the past couple of weeks now?"

"God," Bannon huffs, shaking his head, "you establishment types are all the fucking same."

"At least we can get things done in Congress," Reince retorts. "Or have you already forgotten your precious travel ban? Which, by the way, was a terrible piece of work."

Bannon steps forward, breath hot on Reince's face and finger pointed into his chest. "You know what, Priebus, why don't you go back to Kenosha and go back to shoving Paul Ryan's cock up your ass?"

Reince rolls up his sleeves and is just about to do something he may regret later, but then there's a loud and familiar voice.

"Hey!" Trump is standing right there, Katie beside him. She must've gone to get him at some point. There's no one else around, luckily, but he's sure that someone noticed their loud argument or the President's subsequent intervention.

"Hey," he says again. "I heard lots of shouting, and I want to know why there is so much shouting. Now who is going to tell me that?"

Reince looks at Bannon and Bannon looks at Reince and says, "Let's go talk in your office, Mr. President."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They touch at CPAC, constantly, trying to prove to the public that they do, that they’re comfortable with each other, that they’re friends.

Each point of physical contact physically burns, red marks that disappear as soon as they’re formed, but the pain remains, constant and aching.

The Devil runs through Bannon’s blood, but it’s a relief that Reince has enough holy goodness in him to know.

He’s afraid of when it’ll stop.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The leaking doesn’t stop. There are still articles published about how he’s going to get kicked on his ass by the President because everyone in this administration is out to get him.

Reince sits in his office and holds his head in his hands, trying to keep himself from freaking out when there’s so much to freak out about.

“There’s another fucking article,” he says, when someone walks in.

"That sucks." When he looks up, he doesn't see Katie, but rather Conway, setting down a sandwich beside his head.

"What are you doing?" Reince asks.

"Giving you food," Conway says. She pauses, then adds, "I know how tough the media can be, and I know how hard it is facing your children the next day.”

“Oh,” Reince says, because he can’t think of anything else to say. “Um… thanks.”

“Do you want to eat this down at the mess hall?” she asks.

He bites his lip, looking down at the sandwich then up at her. It must be a real effort for her to be this nice to him, but then again, she knows better than anyone how he’s feeling, what it’s like when the wolves are coming for you.

And yet she gets up every day and keeps doing what she does – for no other reason than the fact that she’s here, in the White House, and she has the confidence of the President. For however long, that is.

“Yeah,” he says. He grabs the sandwich and gets up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Haberman doesn’t write any articles about him and Bannon.

Reince isn’t sure whether to be pleased or upset.

He doesn’t do anything.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The President goes to Mar-a-Lago and leaves Bannon and Reince at the White House with one set of instructions – sort it out.

Bannon pulls out one of his bottles of whiskey and pours out a glass. Reince drains it in a single gulp, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Bannon says.

“What do you want?” Reince asks. He fills up another glass and downs it again.

Bannon rolls his eyes. “Priebus, the President told us we have to get along, so that’s what I’m doing. It’s for the good of the nation.”

“You hate me,” Reince says, pointing a finger accusatorily. “You _hate_ me, just admit it. You hate me, you hate the Republican party, you hate everything we stand for.”

“If I hated everything you stand for, why would I be a Republican?” He lets Reince have his third drink, then starts taking his own sips straight from the bottle, effectively cutting Reince off.

“Because the Republican party can effectively mobilize our base and rally behind a cause,” Reince says. “We can organize down to a community level and up to a national level the way the Democrats can only dream of – and yet you hate us.”

“That’s because you don’t do anything up here in Washington,” Bannon says. He shakes his head and leans forward. “You’ve let your base down.”

“You mean the base that thought Hillary Clinton had a child sex ring out of a pizzeria?” Reince can’t keep the smirk off his face. He points his finger right into Bannon’s face. “That’s pathetic. _You’re_ pathetic.”

Bannon grits his teeth. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Make me.”

They’re close now, and Reince can see every gaping pore, every flake of skin, every single dark lash on Bannon’s face. It’s disgusting, it’s so disgusting, and Reince hates him so much that when Bannon leans forward and kisses him, he pushes against him and kisses back.

It’s terrible, fucking terrible, fucking filthy. Reince has his hands on Bannon’s face and he imagines peeling it off, piece by piece, to discover the dark demon that’s underneath. Bannon flips Reince over and presses him down on the desk.

Reince can feel the pens and papers digging into his back and he unbuckles his belt and pulls down his pants. He turns on his stomach and shoves everything aside. There’s the telltale unwrapping of what’s either a condom or a packet of lube, and then there’s a burning sensation when Bannon puts one of his fingers up Reince’s ass.

He grips the table and groans. It fucking hurts but what about this whole administration up to this point hasn’t hurt? “Fuck,” he grumbles quietly.

“Oh, don’t worry, I will,” Bannon says, smirk evident in his tone as he presses in another finger. “I’m going to put you in your fucking place, Priebus.”

“Then get the fuck on with it,” Reince replies. His face is already starting to heat up, sweat tricking down his brow. “You’re all talk and no shit, Bannon.”

“Shut the fuck up, Priebus.” And without warning, Bannon shoves his dick inside of him.

Reince’s first thought is, this is why he had three wives, but it’s clear that while Bannon has a big dick, he doesn’t know how to use it. His motions are asynchronous, unrhythmic, as though he’s just using Reince as a hole to jerk off into.

And fuck, if that doesn’t turn him on a little.

“God, I fucking hate you,” Bannon growls, deep and low. “You’re a fucking terrible excuse for a Republican, all of you are.”

“Like you’re any better,” Reince says, trying to catch his breath. “You have the full force of the President and yet you can’t get a single fucking thing done. And the media still fucking hates you.”

“I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks.”

“Yeah, you do,” Reince smirks, “President Bannon.”

There’s a slight pause to Bannon’s movements, but the effect is immediate as Bannon starts fucking him faster, harder, deeper.

Reince just smirks more. “Oh yeah,” he pants. “Yeah, fucking give it to me, Mr. President. Because that’s what you want, don’t you? You want to be the fucking President – fuck.” He moans, reaching down to grip his dick through his boxers.

It must be a sight, he thinks, offhandedly, if someone just walked in and saw them like this. Enemies, fucking enemies, in every sense of the word.

Bannon bites down on Reince’s shoulder and he comes right then.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reince is in the room when Trump calls Costa and Haberman. He’s behind the Resolute Desk, phone in his hands, ignoring the frantic texts Paul is sending his way.

“Look, he tried. He tried very hard,” Trump says, and the scary part is, Reince isn’t sure whether he’s talking about Paul or himself.

 _Is my job safe?_ he texts her, after she’s hung up.

 _How should I know?_ she replies.

Reince sets his phone on the desk and watches Paul call him again and again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“He’s not out to get you,” Reince sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Like I said, he just wanted people to watch Judge Jeanine’s show.”

“Don’t give me your fucking talking points, Priebus,” Paul huffs on the other end. He sounds a little out of breath, as though he’d been exercising moments before. “Or do you actually not know what’s going on in your own administration?”

“I’m telling you the truth.” Bannon walks in and Reince sighs. “I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.” He hangs up and rubs the bridge of his nose.

“I’m guessing that was Ryan,” Bannon says. He sits down at his chair and rolls it over.

“Yeah, it was,” Reince says. “He’s getting real paranoid, even after the President called him to say his job is safe and they can work together.”

“It’s all because of those Freedom Caucus fucks,” Bannon huffs. “Ryan is fine, he was willing to help push this bill, but those assholes refused to cooperate.” He shakes his head. “And then they leaked my fucking shit-list.”

“I told you then and I’m telling you know, that was a terrible idea,” Reince sighs. “We can’t just go against any Republican that opposes us. It’s undemocratic.”

“And what if democracy is failing us?”

Reince gives him a look. “Don’t say that.”

Bannon lifts his hands and shrugs. “I’m just saying, those fucking cucks that Kushner hired – they’re happy this bill failed. And I guarantee you that they’ll be looking to kick both of us out when they get a chance.”

“You’re being paranoid,” Reince says. “Cohn and Powell are perfectly fine and respectable, and there’s no way they’re going to try to make a move on us.”

“You’re too soft for your own good.” Bannon rolls back to his desk and cracks his knuckles. “They’ll come for you when you least expect it.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Katie is pushed out, that’s when reality strikes. It was all fucking Cohn’s idea, of course it was, under the guise to get their agenda pushed through in other places. But Bannon was right – they’re trying to push him out.

He has no one now.

He can’t even get someone to make some fucking copies for him because he has no idea where their allegiances lie – with him, with Bannon, with Kushner or Cohn. Everywhere he turns, one of them is there.

Kushner, who now has the entire world on his plate and then some, and where they used to have a polite and amicable relationship, Reince only feels tension between them whenever they’re standing alone.

“I’m sorry about Katie,” he says, one day.

Reince nods forcefully. “Thank you.” He pats Kushner’s shoulder a little awkwardly but it seems to do the trick – Kushner smiles down at him and they move on to a different topic.

It’s more of an armistice than anything, and it does little to make Reince feel better.

Conway is nowhere to be found and Cohn is at every meeting Reince gets to, smiling proudly at Trump’s side. Reince feels his heart spiraling down and down and down.

He got it wrong – the Republican party wasn’t Lazarus. They were Icarus. Pandora. A modern-day Greek hero whose hubris led to their downfall. It’s not a story of triumph, it’s an ancient story of tragedy.

Complete with incest, Reince thinks bitterly, when Ivanka manages to get herself into the inner circle. Another voice that Trump will listen to and another excuse to ignore the party.

There’s a part of him that knows that this is all their fault, but he doesn’t know how to fix it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The office is dark, like it used to be, back in the day, when the only enemy he had was Bannon. Reince carefully opens the door and steps inside. “Hey, Bannon, I just heard about the NSC and –”

And then the door slams shut because he’s being pushed against it because Bannon pushed him because Bannon has his hands around Reince’s neck and he can’t breathe he can’t breathe he can’t –

Bannon lets go and Reince falls to the floor, pushing open his collar and trying to breathe. His vision is blurred and spots dance around his eyes but fuck, he’s alive, he’s alive.

“Oh, shit,” Bannon mumbles, and then he’s on the ground next to Reince, leaning him against the door, gently rubbing his arm. “Oh, shit, I’m so sorry, Priebus.”

Reince opens his mouth but all he can manage is some weak pants and a choking noise. Bannon presses a finger to his lips and shushes him.

“It’s okay,” he says, gently. He’s pulling down Reince’s pants and then he’s stroking his dick. “It’s okay. I’m going to make it okay, I promise.”

Reince leans his head back against the door. Bannon’s lips on his and his hand is still on his dick and he can’t help but lean into it, but lean into him, lean on him, depend on him.

He comes like that, moaning softly, still kissing him, and it’s like some form of Stockholm Syndrome because Bannon did it, he made it okay.

They’re both sinking ships but they’re sinking together.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The interview with Haberman and Thrush goes as well as expected. Cohn sneezes and Trump asks if he’s okay and everyone laughs. Reince walks in with Pence at his side, once again trying to show that he’s comfortable with someone who hates him at his side. And everything else just – goes.

He knows he’s going to have to deal with the fallout that comes with whenever Trump makes a public statement – this time about Cummings and Rice – but he doesn’t focus on that just then. He just focuses on Haberman, calm and collected and poised, letting Trump talk himself into a circle.

Reince ends up holding the door open when they walk out. Thrush nods politely and steps out but Haberman lingers, eyes narrow and gaze calculating as she takes him in. She doesn’t say anything, but her expression says it all – surprised that he’s there, and resigned to the fact that he won’t do anything.

His heart falls and he watches them walk down the hallway.

“Those New York Times people love me,” Trump says triumphally. “They’re a terrible, failing newspaper because they pretend not to, but I know they do.” He taps the desk. “So, Gary, where are we on Davis-Bacon?”

Cohn steps forward and Reince closes the door, focusing back on the matter at hand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Ryan, Ryan, I didn’t mean it like that,” Reince says. He’s in his office, lit by lamplight, alone in every sense of the word.

“Oh, I know _exactly_ what you meant,” Paul huffs. “You come in here, Vice President at your side, and then you threaten my speakership if I don’t cooperate. Well, you know what, Priebus – fuck you. I’m done. Have fun trying to make sense of that flaming pile of shit that’s now the White House.”

He hangs up, and Reince just sighs. He knows Paul is likely to come crawling back, once the dust settles and everyone needs Trump to pass their amendments or whatever, but he can’t say it doesn’t hurt.

Paul Ryan was his only friend in Congress, and now he’s alienated even him.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes. Bannon was right, knives are out to get them both. And maybe they should – they’ve done terrible, terrible things in the name of protecting their country but what did they do? All they did was just push everything further into ruin. Hubris. Negligence. Regret. “What do I do now?”

“Repent.” There she is, a specter in the doorway, in all her majesty – Haberman herself. A part of Reince knows that she’s not there, that this is some sort of feverish dream, but she steps in and he can’t look away. “You can repent, Reince Priebus.”

“How?” Reince asks. His voice is hoarse and pathetic, all of a sudden, in the presence of such majesty. “It’s all gone to shit, how can I fix it?”

“Repent,” she says again. Her voice is soft and booming, like an angel of a dead god and the priestess of a vengeful one. “You know what you need to do.”

And fuck, he does.

He opens his eyes and gets up from his desk. Sean’s office isn’t far and his computer is unlocked so it’s not hard to find the list of reporters and their numbers.

He calls the first one he sees. “Anonymous source – infighting in the White House. Everyone hates each other, and Bannon and Priebus are on the chopping block.”

The reporter on the other end chokes. “What, wait – really?”

Reince nods. “It’s not a matter of whether, but when.”

Afterwards, he finds Bannon’s alcohol stash and drains an entire bottle, hoping to forget what he’s just done.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“New reports about us getting ousted,” Reince says.

Bannon shrugs. “Ad hominem, ad nauseam.”

“I don’t think that’s a real Latin phrase.”

“Shut up and help me get this condom on.”

They fuck in Mar-a-Lago with the windows wide open and the smell of the sea filling the air. Bannon bites the nape of his neck until he draws blood and Priebus scratches down his back to leave trails of poisonous ichor.

 _Repent, repent_ , Haberman’s voice echoes in his ears and he lets out a moan.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He calls her while he’s getting on the plane back to DC, and she picks up after a few moments. “Mr. Priebus.”

“Haberman,” Reince hums. “I’m here to anonymously tell you about what’s happened between Kushner and Bannon.”

“Really?” He imagines her sitting up, twirling a pencil in one hand with her phone pressed against her ear. “Why would you do that?”

He shrugs. “Call it my penance.”

There’s a laugh on the other end, and Reince lets the story spill out. The Florida sun shines down on him and he feels like he can finally breathe.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no free time but also no self-control. Please do not recreate anything in this fic - especially not the sex scenes.
> 
> @ Maggie Haberman, I am so, so sorry to drag you into this.


End file.
